When You Were Young and We Were Different
by Midnight Raptor
Summary: "So, is this your thing?" she asks several seconds later as he gently rotates her foot this way and that. "Rescuing injured teenage girls?" 10 years ago, a rookie Sam met a teenage Andy. Both make a lasting impression on the other. Sam/Andy. Chapter 5 up now. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

Setting note: Andy is 16 and Sam is 27 in this first part.

Status: Complete

A/N: Happy New Year! We've now entered the year of Season 3 and I couldn't be more thrilled. Just two things I'd like to say before the story.

First, I got the greatest Christmas gift when, two days after Christmas, I received in the mail TWO SIGNED PICTURES FROM THE CAST. I wrote to them in November and sent along a picture and they graciously mailed back a reply. They didn't sign the original picture I sent but instead, Missy, Enuka, Greg, Charlotte, Travis, Lyriq, Tassie Cameron, and Paul Day (I think) signed one of their Season 3 promo pics and Missy was kind enough to sign a second picture of her (she even went and wrote an adorable short post-it note explaining why Charlotte decided to sign it too). This seriously made my Christmas. If anyone wants the address info, feel free to shoot me a PM and I'll be more than happy to give it to you. They are on hiatus now (or soon will be) but you can still try or save it for August when they (hopefully!) return for Season 4.

Second, I would be remiss if I didn't take a moment to acknowledge **Mai x Mai**. She wrote this fantastic story for Inception called "Catharsis" using this basic plot and I was completely inspired by it. So I asked and she graciously gave me permission to use her plot for this story. I put my own little twists on it but the basic plot is hers. Check out her story if you like this one. Thanks Mai x Mai! :)

Anyways, I'm rambling now. So, here it is. Enjoy! :)

Disclaimer: I really don't own too much of this. The basic plot belongs to Mai x Mai. Rookie Blue belongs to…whoever it belongs to. All I own is the way I wrote this.

_When You Were Young and We Were Different_

Chapter 1

Sometimes he really struggles to understand why he became a cop in the first place.

It doesn't happen very often because if it did he probably would've turned his badge in a long time ago but when it does come up, it hits him like a freight train he never saw coming, brutal and unrelenting as it collided headlong into his thoughts.

He hates those freight trains, the endless parade of doubt and self-loathing that it brought, the way it made him sick to his stomach when it pounded its way through his head. He fucking hates it and he's definitely wished on more than one occasion for the ability to just ignore it but he knows it isn't that simple.

Because it's those freight trains that get engrained in your head, those pictures and smells and sensations that you can't erase from your memory no matter how hard you try and he only keeps adding to that twisted collection.

It had started a week ago on a cold and blustery Sunday night in a quiet neighborhood six blocks away from the division. In the comfort of their small but homely first floor apartment, a young woman and her new husband sat together watching TV, awaiting the 8:00 arrival of the woman's five year old son who had spent the weekend with her ex-boyfriend, the boy's biological father, as part of their visitation agreement. But when 8:00 came and went with no sign of the boy and his father, the woman grew anxious and began bombarding her ex-boyfriend's phone with calls, none of which were answered or returned.

By 9:00, the police were involved, knocking on the woman's door and questioning her and her husband about the boy's father, a high school dropout who had finished a one-year stint in the correctional facility for possession of marijuana shortly after the boy was born but had been clean ever since. Photos were dug up, addresses taken down, and when a visit to the father's apartment revealed missing occupants and an empty driveway, the investigation was officially underway.

Sam hadn't been working that night but when he came in the following morning, coffees for him and his training officer in tow, the station had been a buzz with activity. The D's had headed parade, passing out flyers and files and briefing the division on everything they knew about the boy and his father. For the next few days, they followed every lead they got but the most promising was a single, blurry traffic camera picture taken just before midnight the night the disappearances were reported when a car matching the father's ran a red light on the outskirts of the city.

The search lead them several miles out of Toronto where the land was flat and filled with trees and traffic was scarce in either direction. Their intel was spotty and more than a little incomplete but they knew enough to know that the car had headed in that direction and hadn't been seen coming back. For three days, dozens of cruisers went up and down that highway, searching for an abandoned car, a piece of clothing, anything to let them know they were on the right track. But it had been raining constantly for the past two weeks, torrential downpours that soaked to the bone within seconds, and all traces of anything were as good as gone.

On Thursday, they finally got a break in the weather and orders were given to press even further into the trees. They searched everywhere, trudging through the thick, soppy underbrush, calling for both father and son while search-and-rescue dogs struggled to follow the heavily diluted scent.

It was Friday when he found the bodies. Poking around near a small creek, a flash of red had caught his eye and when he went over to investigate, he found the small body of a five year old boy wearing a muddied Superman sweatshirt, the same sweatshirt the missing boy could be seen wearing in several family pictures that were provided to the police. Beside him was his father lying spread-eagle on his back. Both had several stab wounds across their torso and despite the rain, the smell had been overwhelming, causing him to double over and empty out his stomach right then and there.

The next several hours had been a blur of activity with a dozen different people asking him about anything he could tell them about how he had found the bodies, questions that made him even more nauseous answering. Of course, as the officer who had made the discovery, that hadn't been the end of it and when he arrived at the station the next morning, a mountain of paperwork awaited him, paperwork that had taken him a whole day to complete.

He was exhausted, not only physically but mentally as well, and there was a part of him that wanted nothing more than to shut himself off from everyone while he got his head on straight again. But he also wanted to do his job, wanted to push through and refuse to let his superior officers see just how much the case had affected him. His training officer had had other plans though, having seen right through his walls of bravado and nonchalance, and when Sam finally finished the last of his paperwork, the veteran officer took him by the shoulders and told him in no uncertain terms that he didn't want to see him anywhere near the division until the next day.

"But sir, I want to help with the—"

"No 'buts', Swarek," his T.O. cut in. "I want you to take the rest of the day off."

Sam ducked his head, suddenly feeling very insignificant in front of his gruff T.O.

The man seemed to soften, then, and raised a hand to grasp Sam's shoulder. "Listen, son. I get it. I do. One year on the job and you're still trying to show everyone that you have what it takes. But cases like these…" He sighs and shakes his head. "They're hard on everybody, every time and it doesn't make you any less of a cop if you take it to heart. So I want you to get out of here. Clear your head. Do whatever you have to do. Then come back tomorrow and do it all over again."

He certainly didn't think it at the time but he would eventually come to thank Tommy McNally for making him leave the station that day.

He drove around the city for a while, not really paying attention to where he was going, until he ended up at the waterfront. Despite the fact that he had lived in Toronto all his life, he hadn't been to the waterfront in years and simply being there again brought him back to better times, times when he worried about troubles of a much different kind and people who randomly killed fathers and their sons simply didn't exist.

He stands there now, leaning against the metal railings, the blue-gray waters of Lake Ontario lapping against the concrete below him as the sun made its descent below the horizon. Heaving a sigh, he bows his head and rubs his stubbled jaw. It really had been one hell of a week, one he was now feeling in every bone and muscle in his body, and the freight train was making its appearance once again.

He loves his job. He really does. But it was cases like this that really made him wonder if it was worth it, if risking life and limb and piece of mind was worth it when none of it seemed to matter in the end anyway. Father and son were dead, killed simply because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and there was nothing anyone could've done to prevent it. And that, knowing that he did everything right and it still went to hell, was the hardest bullet to swallow.

He scoffs, shaking this head at the irony of it all considering the fact that his T.O. had sent him away precisely so he could avoid these very thoughts. Or at least dampen them. But he knows it would take one hell of a distraction to manage to pull that off.

Then…

A skidding grind. A yell. The ugly sound of two very solid objects colliding into each other.

"Damn it!"

He spins around and sees someone lying face down on the pavement, a well-worn skateboard abandoned at their feet, the whole scene a picture of a classic board wipeout. The cop in him kicks in and he rushes over.

"You okay?"

But the boy (he assumes) is already moving, separating his cheek from the ground in order to sit upright. "Fantastic," he mumbles dryly to Sam's feet as he continues to haul himself up.

Noticing that he was favoring a side, Sam extends a hand. "Here."

The boy looks up and Sam finds himself staring straight into the bright, slightly irritated hazel eyes of…

_A girl?_

But he barely has time to register this fact as she grudgingly grasps his forearm to pull herself to her feet, grabbing her skateboard as she does so.

"Why don't you sit down?" he asks, seeing her wince upon standing.

"I'm fine. I don't need to—" She takes a step in an attempt to prove her capability and grimaces when her right foot buckles slightly beneath her.

Ignoring her protests, he maneuvers her to sit on the bench behind them and crouches low before her.

"May I?" He gestures to her foot only to double back when he sees the weirded out expression written clearly on her face. "I'm a cop," he explains hastily.

"Figures," she mutters with a non-discreet eye roll but after a moment, reluctantly relinquishes her foot to his scrutiny.

"So, is this your thing?" she asks several seconds later as he gently rotates her foot this way and that. "Rescuing injured teenage girls?"

"Only the ones who insist they're fine as they struggle to stay on their feet," he replies smoothly. Looking up, he finds those piercing hazel eyes locked on him and the scuffed up helmet that had been on her head now rests on her lap, revealing a shock of cropped dirty blonde hair.

She frowns, a look that he finds rather adorable on her despite the inappropriateness of the situation. "Seriously, dude. It's fine. I've had a lot worse."

"For some reason, I actually believe that." And he does, having caught sight of several fresh scrapes and bruises on her arms, badges of honor for a rough-and-tumble athlete and skater. Satisfied with his evaluation, he tugs the frayed cuff of her jeans back down to cover her ankle and gets to his feet. "Looks like you just twisted it."

"Could've told you that," she says as he sits down next to her.

Bending his elbows to rest them on the back of the bench, he takes his first real look at her and is surprised when he realizes that she's actually older than he originally thought. Probably around 16 or 17 decked out in the clothes of a teenage boy. He takes in the black Ramones tee, skull and crossbones emblazoned wristband, green box frame belt holding up a pair of low-slung jeans that seemed to be comprised of more holes and rips than actual material, and skate shoes worn to the sole and concludes that she probably would've been just fine without him fussing over her ankle like an imbecile. Hell, she could probably hold her own against him, all 175 pounds of Swarek brawn, her pixie cut sandy blonde hair completing her rather badass persona.

She turns to him, then, and shoves her permanently side swept hair out of her eyes. "So, you're a cop?"

"Yup."

"How do I know you're not lying?"

"Why would I lie about being a cop?"

"Because people trust cops."

He considers her for a moment, a smile tugging at his lips. "Fair enough," he relents and digs into his pocket to retrieve his badge. "How's this?"

Her eyes narrow as she inspects the silver crest, darting quickly between him and the badge.

He seems to pass her scrutiny a moment later when she gives him a slight nod and eases back into the bench. "Alright then, officer."

Curiously, he finds himself breathing a small sigh of relief as he replaces the badge back in his pocket.

"How long you been on the force?"

He's not quite sure why but the sincere interest in her voice surprises him. Maybe it has to do with the fact that a majority of the conversations he's had recently with members of the opposite gender leaned more towards bold innuendo aimed at getting them to come home with him rather than getting to know their hopes and dreams. "A little over a year."

Her eyebrows shoot up into her forehead, disappearing beneath her unruly bangs. "A rookie," she says, her eyes dancing.

He bristles slightly at being called a rookie by a teenage girl. "Technically, I'm not. Rookie year ends once you get cut loose. I was cut in November."

"And I bet they still look for any excuse to make you earn your stripes."

He flashes her a grin. "Every day."

She smiles back and it suddenly occurs to him just how pretty she actually is, the whole skater punk, I-don't-give-a-damn-what-you-think look notwithstanding. He decides right then that he feels like seeing if he can get a peek of what's behind all that skater bravado.

"And what's your story?"

It may just be his imagination but she seems to tense slightly at his question. "My story?"

"Yeah. I told you I was a cop."

She cocks her head, eyes narrowing with a mixture of suspicion and confusion. "Aren't you supposed to be one of those people who tell me not to tell strangers about myself?"

He shrugs. "I'm not a stranger."

"That's something only strangers say."

Again, he feels the corners of his lips twitching into a smile. "Fine," he admits, raising a hand in surrender. "I'm a stranger. So what do you tell a stranger who asks what your story is?"

There's a brief pause. "I tell him…" She worries her bottom lip. "That I don't have much of a story to tell."

"I find that hard to believe."

"That's too bad," she smirks.

"Oh, come on," he insists, shifting to face her properly. "Everyone has a story."

He sees something, then, a subtle change in her eyes as the hesitation and standoffishness gives way to something else entirely and he watches as her lips part just so, giving her the impression of being on the verge of speaking. But it disappears as quickly as it came and she immediately regains her composure.

"I want to go to the Academy," she says quietly after a moment, leaving him to wonder what she had been about to say instead.

But his interest peaks and he can't help it when he raises an eyebrow in surprise. "The police Academy?"

"No, the Academy Awards."

He ducks his head at that, humored. She certainly had a knack for making him feel like a complete dipshit. _You're 5-0, Swarek. What else could she possibly be talking about?_ "You want to be a copper."

"Never wanted to be anything else."

A beat. "Why?"

She raises a shoulder in a shrug and turns her gaze to the water before them. "It's all I've ever known. To serve and protect and hope to God you make it home every night so that you can go back and do it all over again in the morning. Because even if your family and friends don't always get why you do it, why you disobey direct orders and run right into the line of fire, Blue looks after its own and you can't imagine turning your back on it for anything else."

They sit in silence for a moment, her words lingering heavily between them.

"So, who do you know on the force?" he asks softly after a while.

She blinks as if coming out of a trance and turns to him. "What?"

He gives her a knowing look. "No one talks like that unless they know someone in blue."

She drops her gaze, having suddenly found the faded stickers on her helmet much more interesting. "My dad."

"Like father, like daughter."

A small smile graces her lips. "Yeah."

There's something there, something unsaid and complicated and raw in that one word that catches his attention. After all, he's a cop and it's his job to pick up on things like that. But right now, he's not a cop and it's none of his business, at least not while he's talking to her like this out of uniform as two people just having a chat on a waterfront bench. Of course, he's interested, having just found a chink in her badass, skater armor, but he respects her and her need to keep whatever it is private, the newly formed bonds of trust too fragile to be tampered with, and so he says nothing.

Instead, the soft crinkling of plastic fills the air as she fiddles with a particularly worn out Green Day sticker, the silence between them neither awkward nor strained.

"You ever think you aren't cut out for this job?"

Her soft, almost hesitant voice startles him more than her question.

"All the time," he answers truthfully and he finds it curious that he doesn't feel the need to put on his Swarek bravado.

"And you keep going?"

"Every day."

Once again, he gets a glimpse of the girl hiding behind her walls. She won't meet his eyes, her gaze focused on some distant point on the ground, but he sees the insecurities and doubt written all over her face.

"You'll make a good cop," he says after a moment.

The corners of her mouth twitch slightly. "You don't know that."

"I don't," he agrees. "But I believe it."

She looks at him and their eyes finally meet, her soft hazels locked on his piercing brown, and he's struck by how young she looks at that precise moment. "Why?"

He doesn't answer right away and just looks at her. In all honesty, he doesn't know why he thinks that she'll be a good cop. Hell, he barely knows her. He doesn't know what her whole story is or why she's closed up the way she is. He doesn't know where her fears come from or why they even exist in the first place. But if he's learned anything during his past year on the force it's that you have to trust your gut and his was telling him that she was going to make an outstanding copper one day. "I just do."

Her eyes search his, as if she was looking for any trace of insincerity, but he means every word, a fact that she seems to accept without saying anything more.

"Tell you what," he continues, somewhat emboldened by her silence. "Meet me here when you get cut loose. You can show me for yourself how far you've come."

Just like that, the dark cloud of uncertainty that had settled on her face slowly begins to disappear and he watches as the playful spark once again grows in her eyes. "And how am I supposed to let you know when I get cut loose?"

"All the rookies get cut on the second Wednesday every November."

"So…what, you're just gonna come here every November until I show up?"

"It's one day of the whole year," he replies with a small shrug as if it was no trouble at all (which it really wasn't). "I'll be here for an hour around this time." He's not quite sure where all this is coming from but it's out of his mouth before he has time to think it over so he just rolls with it.

She looks at him, cocking her head like she's trying to figure out if he was being serious or not. "What if you forget?"

"I won't," he assures her.

"What if I forget?"

"Let's hope you won't."

She pauses and he can almost hear the gears turning in her head as she formulates her next hypothetical situation, her tongue running contemplatively across the back of her teeth.

"What if I choose not to show up?"

He holds her steady gaze, her eyes dancing with the challenge. "I'll take my chances."

She laughs, a soft, sweet sound that's music to his ears, and shakes her head. "You're a stubborn sucker, aren't you?"

"Just persistent," he answers, shooting her a lopsided grin.

For a moment, she just worries her bottom lip, suddenly looking more like a shy, young girl than a badass, accident-prone teenager. "Okay then. It's a date."

He cocks an eyebrow. "Only if you want it to be."

"Maybe I do," she throws back, raking a hand through her cropped hair.

This should be setting off all sorts of alarms in his head, the fact that he's flirting with a teenage girl, but then their eyes lock and there's a certain maturity in them that he can't describe and she's flirting right on back too, isn't she? So, they sit there, staring at each other, neither wanting to be the first to break.

But she does. "I should probably get going," she ventures at a length.

"Probably," he assents, his eyes never leaving hers.

Several more seconds pass before she manages to look away, a slight blush creeping into her cheeks. Carefully, she eases herself to her feet, wary of the ankle she twisted earlier, and he fights to keep himself from reaching out and helping her up, knowing that doing so would only insult her independence. Instead, he stands, watching as she tested her weight on her bad ankle.

"Doesn't even hurt," she announces with a grin, stomping on the ground several times to prove her point.

He smiles, her energy and enthusiasm infectious.

Placing her helmet back on her head, she looks up at him and extends a hand. "Thanks."

They shake, his hand engulfing her smaller but equally calloused one. "You're welcome."

He knows he should let go but he doesn't and neither does she.

"I guess…" She lifts a shoulder. "I'll see you when I see you."

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't a little disappointed at that, not knowing when that would be. "Guess so," he says quietly.

A car alarm goes off somewhere in the distance and he promptly lets go of her hand and clears his throat.

She looks at him a moment longer and throws him one last shy smile before turning around and kicking off on her skateboard.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he watches her roll away, moving with all the grace and agility of a seasoned skateboarder. A thought niggles at him, then, growing stronger and stronger until he can't help himself from blurting it out.

"I don't know your name," he calls after her, wincing slightly at how ridiculous it sounds.

She grinds to a stop, kicking up her board so she can spin around on the back wheels to face him and when she does, he sees a small smirk playing on her lips.

"What fun would it be if you did?"

She then arches an eyebrow mischievously before spinning back around and skating away, causing him to chuckle softly at the absurdity of the whole situation as he stares after her disappearing form.

It isn't until he finally loses sight of her against the red-orange glow of the setting sun that he realizes that for those 10 minutes, all thought of the case never even entered his mind.

* * *

><p>AN: This really isn't very significant but if you're wondering about Andy's hair in this I was kinda going for Keira Knightley's hairstyle from her movie _Domino_. Short and badass. And I modeled 17 year old Andy after Missy's character in _Stick It_, the rebel without a cause haha. Once again, thanks to Mai x Mai for letting me borrow her idea. Anyways, the semester is starting next week and thus ending my creative time but I hope to get Part 2 up as soon as I can. Please be patient. :)


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Hello, dear readers! No, I haven't forgotten about this. The semester ended in May but I took a summer class that just ended so I've been writing as much as I can since then. I'm not finished but as some of you have been asking about this, I decided to post a short excerpt of the final chapter so you all know I'm still working on this. The response and support I've gotten for this story has been overwhelming. And the RB Choice nomination for this? Against the BRILLIANT tikvarn? It's too much. SO flattered. The only worry I have is that this lives up to your expectations.

So, here's just a small portion of what I've finished so far. I hope you all enjoy it! :)

Disclaimer: All I own is the way I wrote this.

Chapter 2

The first time he shows up at the waterfront, it's a cold and miserable Wednesday afternoon. Winter had come early that year, the snow falling in blinding droves since October and refusing to show the city any mercy. Cars stopped dead on the streets, mounds of snow and ice filled the sidewalks, and even crime itself seemed to freeze as the entire city hunkered down in an attempt to escape the winter of the century.

The entire city of course, except for him. He had merely shrugged on his coat at the station after shift, waved off the boys' invitation for a drink to defrost themselves after a long day on the streets, and tucked himself into his truck for the drive to the waterfront, completely undeterred by the prospect of waiting by the lake's frigid waters.

It isn't until he finds himself by the same metal railings he stood at just several months ago, back turned and huddled against the biting wind, that he realizes the error in his judgment. Not about his choice to face the debilitating cold horrifically under protected— really, Swarek, would it have killed you to grab a beanie this morning? —but rather the fact that there is no conceivable way that she could've gotten cut loose this year.

He does the math quickly. They met in February, just nine months ago. Which meant that for her to have been cut loose today, she would've had to have been halfway through her rookie year when they met, a fact that had clearly not been the case all things considered.

He lets out a short chuckle as this starts to click, shakes his head as his breath puffs in front of him and quickly disappears. The rest of the variables then fall into place. She could've gone to college first before joining the Academy, could've taken a year off after graduating high school. Hell, she could _still_ be in high school and his mind flashes him unwelcome thoughts of what their initial meeting could've looked like to an outsider, a teenager chatting it up with a 27 year old stranger. It doesn't even push the scandal line but he's been on the force long enough to know the ugly consequences that have risen from more innocent scenarios and he wouldn't blame someone for thinking the same.

He's starting to lose the feeling in his toes but he's only wondering about how none of this came to mind during the past few months, briefly entertaining the idea that he could've saved himself from spending more time in the cold than necessary.

But no, a promise is a promise and his was that he'd be here on this day every year until she showed up. And so even though he knows she won't be making an appearance this year, won't be rolling up to him on her skateboard or striding confidently to his side dressed in her uniform blues, he draws his hood closer around his head, digs his gloved hands further into his pockets, and stays.

It becomes a ritual for him, waiting by the water that day in November, with a few variations every year. He doesn't encounter a winter quite like the first time, which he's utterly grateful for, but he gets plenty cold regardless. Sometimes it snows, soft, light flakes coming to rest on his shoulders and head until he gets back in his truck looking like someone dumped a bag of powdered sugar all over him. Sometimes it rains and by the time the hour's up, he's soaked through and cursing his lack of foresight to bring an umbrella. But sometimes, sometimes he's lucky and the setting sun graces him with its presence as it disappears over the horizon. It's still cold and he still can't feel his nose when he folds himself back in his truck but the sun is all it takes for him to give in to the slight tugging of his lips into a smile and remember the day not unlike this one that started this whole thing.

But it's not just the weather that changes throughout the years. He does as well. Even though he's well into his second year when he shows up that first November, he's still one of the greenest officers at the division, a sophomore with a head too big and eager to prove himself to his superiors. But he levels out eventually, finds his rhythm and five years in earns a spot on the team he's had his heart set on since the beginning: Guns and Gangs. It's a welcome change but one that makes his yearly promise a little more difficult to keep. Because instead of stopping by after shift like he did when he was on his regular 9 to 5 on patrol, Guns and Gangs now runs his life and he's left at the mercy of his unpredictable assignments. So he prays in the weeks leading up to November that he'll get that one afternoon to himself, that the drug lords and arms dealers of the city will give him that at least if nothing else. For the most part, his prayers are answered and he hurries over to the waterfront in between UC ops, either just getting out of one or days from going under.

One year though, he's in deep with one of the trafficking operations, months away from busting the ring. He's on pins and needles the whole day, wondering how the hell he was going to sneak away from his new companions who were still none too keen about letting him out of their sight. His salvation comes in the form of an incoming shipment of cocaine. Still the rookie member of the crew, he's not invited to the drop, his boss not-so-pleasantly ordering him to make himself scarce for the rest of the day, a command that has him unsure whether to feel disappointed that they still don't trust him or relieved that he can now make it to the waterfront without a tail.

Ten years pass, ten Novembers, and each time a different class of rookies gets cut, none of which include her. Of course, he'd be lying if he said that he isn't disappointed, having shown up without fail every year only to spend the hour alone, but at the same time her absence also serves to pique his interest and he's unable to help himself when his thoughts occasionally start to stray to her those other 364 days.

It's the simplest things that bring her to mind. A skateboarder cruising down the street when he's out on patrol. The skate shop down by the University that he passes whenever the 27th needs an assist on a case. The Academy booth he's forced to run at a few of the local high schools' career days during his second year on the force. It's the small details, random moments on random days when that afternoon on the waterfront could be the furthest thing from his mind and yet despite all that, the headstrong skateboard-wielding teenager somehow manages to drift out from the recesses of his mind where he's kept that precious memory stored away.

For those moments, he wonders about her, where she is, what she's doing. Is she in college, half-asleep instead of listening to the professor? Is she at the Academy getting pounded into the ground by the drill sergeants? Or maybe she changed her mind, decided that following in Dad's footsteps weren't for her, went on skating and became pro instead. He doesn't know which makes the guessing all the more interesting. The moments don't last long nor do they come very often, just enough for the thought to completely form in his head before he's pulled back into whatever it is he's supposed to be doing instead. But he still finds it curious that aside from his sister, the mysterious skateboarding teen is the only other girl he's ever worked this hard to figure out.

And he's not entirely sure he's comfortable with that fact.

* * *

><p>AN: So there it is! I'd appreciate your thoughts and feedback. I'm still working on the rest but I hope to have it done in a few weeks. Once again, thank you so much for all of your support and for sticking with this through the months. Keep on the look out for the completed final chapter! Grown-up Andy will be making her appearance soon. :)


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I'm sorry but I lied. This isn't the completed final chapter. I started writing and the words just started running away and I realized that I'd written enough for another chapter entirely when I was barely halfway done. So instead of keeping you waiting until I do finish it completely, I'm once again posting what I've written. I hope you all enjoy it! :)

Disclaimer: My birthday came and went and I still don't own Rookie Blue. So I write fanfiction instead.

Chapter 3

The tenth time he's at the waterfront, he's a call away from going under on his biggest operation yet.

"I got no idea when Ramirez'll get Hill to bite so just be ready to bounce when I get the call," Boyd had said as they exited the station on Sunday, referring to one of his other UC guys who was getting Sam the job.

Sam nodded his understanding.

"This is the one, Sammy, I can feel it. That bastard's going down for sure." Boyd went on gleefully, clapping his hands on Sam's shoulders.

He fought the urge to shove the other man's hands away. Boyd might be a copper and one of the handlers of Guns and Gangs but there was just something about the vice detective that didn't quite sit well with Sam.

The call could've come at any moment so when he shows up at the waterfront that Wednesday afternoon, he's utterly grateful for his stroke of luck. He whiles away the hour as he does every year, freezing his nose off and wondering if today was going to be the day but of course, he's disappointed once again. He scrubs a hand through his hair just as the last rays of sunlight slip beneath the lake's glassy surface then turns around to prop his elbows on the railings behind him. His eyes scan the waterfront slow and steady but nothing moves in the distance.

His phone vibrates against his leg, alerts him to a text.

_It's on. Hill wants to meet you tonight. Be at the station in 15. _

He makes another pass around the deserted waterfront. Nothing. Another year, another class and it still wasn't hers. Kicking off the railing, he pockets his phone and goes to hand his life over to Anton Hill.

...

It's eight months later when she literally comes barging into his life.

Not the teenage skateboarder from the waterfront (although by this point she definitely shouldn't be a teenager) but McNally. Andy McNally.

After months of living like a rat and gathering as much dirt on Hill as he can, he's so close to getting out of this hell hole he can taste it. All he had to do was sit tight for another two weeks when the largest shipment of heroin to ever come into the city would dock at the harbor, accompany Hill to the pier, and let Boyd's team do the rest.

So naturally, he isn't the least bit thrilled when 15's very own rising star Officer Andy McNally decides to pad her wall of gold stars and earn herself a cookie by arresting him and his narc.

Sure, there's a moment after she bursts through that door when he allows himself the _brief_ thought that even with that gun shaking in her hand and that panicked, slightly crazed look in her eyes, she is the most beautiful creature he's ever seen but _damn it _if he was going to go down because he couldn't get a hold of himself.

Not that it does him any good and 15 minutes later, he finds himself sitting in a squad car throwing a meaningful look at Oliver as he gets settled in his seat. His buddy tries though, he has to hand it to him, and he would have succeeded too if that other damn rookie hadn't wanted to be the booking hero of the day, stalling them long enough for them to catch Jerry's eye.

And then there he is, two steps away from smashing the windows out of Boyko's office while he gives Bambi a piece of his mind. Because really, how much air does your head have to be filled with for you to_ arrest an officer from your own division_? He's had enough of this though, doesn't care if Boyko has something else to say. So he storms out of the office, feeling the need to lash out at some helpless inanimate object that won't fight back.

He finds it in the form of his locker and is beating it to hell and back when she has the nerve to come in.

"Is that working for you, huh?" she asks like he's the one who needs to explain himself. "All the slamming and banging. I mean, I get your point."

He stops his assault only because he gets the idea that maybe she'll leave him alone if he gets his locker open and starts stripping to take a shower. "What're you doing here?"

"Being persistent. You know, I have nothing else going for me today so you know, 'when in doubt…'"

"I don't like girl guides." He's also not looking at her because while she may have shot eight months of his life to hell, he's still a guy and his initial impression of her still stands.

"And I don't like being raked over coals for not knowing the secret handshake. You know, console yourself. I'll probably be fired."

He starts working at the lock, barely listening as she continues her ranting monologue. But he catches the end of it and sneers, "I've only been a cop for five minutes," as he wrenches his locker open and shoots her a look. And shit, yeah, he shouldn't have done that because she's even more beautiful when she's not looking like a damn deer in headlights and he almost feels a bubble of…pride? well up inside him when he sees her staring him down like she's been doing it her whole life. It's nothing to get excited over but it's enough to bring the fire in his veins down a couple degrees and grudgingly offer her his assistance.

So he tells her what he knows and fights hard to keep his eye-rolling to a minimum every time she reminds him of just how painfully green she is. He also starts to strip because a) he's in desperate need of a shower and b) he wants to see if he can ruffle her feathers. But she doesn't blush, doesn't even bat an eye even when he's shirtless and pulling off his pants. _Well, good. She may be a rookie but at least she's not a bimbo._

Then he's standing in nothing but his underwear and she's still leaning against the wall like this is her damn locker room.

"Do you mind?" He doesn't really but the gentleman that's been buried under his drug addict persona for the last several months is kicking him sharply in the shins.

She rolls her eyes but pushes off the wall and walks away.

His gaze follows her out and he swears she puts a little sway in her hips that wasn't there before. _Touché. _

He showers, takes his time too because this is the first time in eight months that he's not dodging various insects in the stall and cursing faulty water heating systems. Also, a briefing with Boyd is next and even though he knows that he needs to talk to the detective while the facts are still fresh in his head, his mood could probably improve some if he could delay seeing Boyd again for a little while longer.

But he can't put it off forever so he finds himself in one of the conference rooms where the detective is pacing a hole into the floor, no doubt alerted by Boyko of the situation. He's barely two steps in the door when the other man explodes into a fit, expletives coloring his words. Somehow, between Boyd cursing every other person he could think of and shoving the various office chairs into the wall, Sam gets the story out and both men concede that they might have enough to possibly put the heroin kingpin away if they play their cards right.

He has another unwanted date with paperwork, legalities and releases that stand between him and active duty back at the division, but he pushes through and gets his service piece back from Boyko, the weight of the familiar Glock in his hands marginally lifting his spirits. By then it's the end of shift and Jerry takes pity on him and steers him away to the Penny, informing him on the way there that Oliver's rookie had gotten the shooter. _Good for you, Bambi._

He's nursing his second scotch when she comes up next to him, offers to buy him a drink to say thanks or sorry or something. He'd let her too, he would. But he's still coming to terms with eight months of his life blowing up in his face and the fact that wide-eyed rookie or not, she all but takes his breath away and he really doesn't need those two things mixing in his head. So he turns her down and watches the sheepishness flash across her face before she heads back to her circle of friends.

Jerry sticks around for a while longer then abruptly heads out, leaving him slightly baffled at his bar stool as he stares after his friend all but chasing one of the rookies out the door.

Then a hand claps him on the back.

"Great to have you back, Sammy."

He turns and sees Oliver sliding onto the stool next to him.

"Wish I could say the same." he grumbles, spinning his glass on the counter.

Oliver gets it, knows it isn't personal. "Look, man. We'll get that son of a bitch. You still got your CI, don't you?"

He grunts into his drink.

"Just give it some time."

He hopes to God he's right because to come that close to putting away that Russian bastard for life only to have it backfire horrifically is eating up his insides.

"So, what's the deal with that new rookie?" he ventures after a moment.

Oliver signals the bartender for a beer. "Which one?"

Right. She does have a name, one that escapes him at the moment. "The…one with the damn bambi eyes."

"Ah," Oliver nods and sips his foaming beer. "McNally."

"Yeah, her."

There's a brief pause in which Oliver seems to debate whether or not to give him this answer. "She's Tommy's kid."

His eyes shoot over to his friend, a silent, _Are you kidding me?, _plastered all over his face. Both he and Ollie had trained with Tommy McNally years ago and the gruff Uni-turned-homicide detective was one of the few cops he'd come to admire over the years despite the troubles that had come Tommy's way. And now that this Andy was his kid…well, she could've fooled Sam. He could only hope that she had picked up on some of Tommy's more favorable traits.

Oliver reads his look. "Yeah, I know, brother. She's as green as they come. You should've seen her face when she told me she arrested you." He broke off with a short laugh but sobered and cleared his throat under Sam's death glare. "But uh, she's got a good heart. So…I don't know, maybe try not to murder her the next time you see her."

He scoffs and shakes his head. Well, he's done pretty good so far. But if Andy McNally was going to get his respect, then she would have to earn it first. And he wasn't going to make it easy for her even if she was his old T.O.'s daughter.

Especially if she was his old T.O.'s daughter.

He's back on the beat the next day and it's just his luck that Boyko pairs him up with McNally for the ride. The Bambi eyes are gone, for the moment at least, but he can still read her like an open book and she keeps doing this thing where she just starts talking and doesn't stop and _jeez_, he can't even hear the voice in his own head anymore. So he decides to have his fun with her, sends her up to see Emily with fake charges and a take-out menu warrant. Because hey, he's already on the streets so he might as well tie up some loose ends while he's at it. She's none too happy of course, says something about trying to follow his rules but he just grins. Never been one for rules anyway.

But the hazing is cut short and it all gets too real too fast. He's got a mess to clean and no time to be babysitting a two-day old rookie. There's enough on his mind without her having to get mucked up in it too. But when he hears that gun cock right behind his head, feels the cool metal against his scalp, he knows he screwed up in ways that makes McNally's pale in comparison. So he keeps his cool, plays his cards even if he doesn't have any, and when he sees her coming down the steps, he doesn't know if he should be relieved or furious that she just disobeyed his order. But she's different this time. Her gun is steady, her voice, confident, and for that moment, he doesn't see a rookie who doesn't know the on button from the off on her radio; he sees a copper every bit deserving of that title, and his partner. Of course, he's not quite ready to completely let bygones by bygones—she _burned_ him, for Christ's sake—but he does give her an inch of slack on the ropes, lets her catch herself on the ledge instead of sending her careening over the side and tells himself it's _only_ because she took a page out his own book and _not_ because he's finding it increasingly difficult to take his eyes off her.

That mantra lasts him until that night when it's all but shot to hell outside the Penny while they're standing toe-to-toe and he's staring straight into her hazel eyes like he's never seen anything like them. Only he has; he just can't quite figure out where. Actually, he can't figure out much of anything, not with her slowly closing the distance between them and the overwhelming desire to kiss that smile off her lips building inside him.

_What? _

Thankfully—or unfortunately, he can't really decide—she gathers her senses enough for both of them and breaks the moment before they end up in something they can't even figure out. It's a second too late for him though and as he's pulling out of the parking lot watching her out of the corner of his eye, he knows this isn't headed for anywhere but trouble.

...

Boyko seems to think they work well together because more often than not he's out on the streets with her riding shotgun. He hasn't been a T.O. for a while since the division hasn't had any rookies for a few years now so it takes a few days for him to settle into riding with the new rooks and get it in his head that whenever they can't tell left from right, it's not because they're brainless morons but because they really don't know any better and it's up to him to teach them.

He gets it though. After all, it's only been ten years since he was in their shoes. But that doesn't mean he has to enjoy the whole training process especially when he'd much rather be busting Anton Hill for trafficking and pimping. Still, it's his job and if he doesn't do it then who will?

So he rides with McNally, lets her get a feel of the streets she'll be protecting for as long as she's in blue. It's not always smooth sailing—his wounded pride makes sure of that—but eventually, they fall into a rhythm and he spends his days showing her exactly what it means to serve and protect.

They're cruising near the northern division boundary one night, having pulled the short straw and gotten stuck with the graveyard shift that week. It's a little after 2 AM and from the quiet lull that fills the cruiser, he can tell that she's slowly losing her battle with five straight nights of working the streets. But the streets don't sleep, not really, so when the call of a three-alarm fire comes over the radio, he's not all that surprised. She's pulled out of her stupor at that, her eyes now alert and darting nervously. It's her first fire call so he gives her a few pointers as they head for the scene.

They come to a stop just as Noelle and Nash are pulling up, the other rookie just as wide-eyed and slightly panicky as McNally as they gape at the blazing apartment building in front of them. The fire department's already there so he sends McNally to tape up the perimeter and start taking statements from the neighbors. She doesn't move at first, just keeps staring, transfixed, at the building engulfed in flames and he has to give her shoulder a squeeze, her first name rolling quietly off his tongue before he can help himself, before she's spurred into action.

One by one, the apartment's inhabitants are brought out and evaluated by the EMTs on scene and those that aren't bad enough to be taken to the hospital are questioned by him and Noelle. He's been to dozens of fires over the years but the looks on the faces of the survivors, of the people who have just lost everything and in some screwed up cases, everyone in their lives, are ones he'll never get used to.

He's finishing his talk with a single mother and her five year old son when Noelle discreetly calls his attention to a young man hovering in the shadows. He nods and the two of them slowly make their way over to the man but he catches on and bolts off, forcing them into pursuit. They corner him in an alley and it's Sam that takes him down, pats his pockets, and finds a lighter in his jeans. He smokes, the man tells them but Sam finds no cigarettes or blunts, smells no tobacco or weed. Instead, he smells gasoline and it's all he and Noelle need to haul the young man to the cruisers to run his ID through the system.

A half a dozen misdemeanors and another handful of felonies with no mention of arson is what they find but it's enough to be suspicious so they get the guy in Noelle's car for her to take back to the barn while he and McNally head out to check the address listed on the license.

They pull away from the scene, the fire behind them considerably smaller than when they first arrived, and he sees the relief playing across his rookie's face when she takes a final look back. He gives her a rundown of the suspect as he drives, fields her questions about the fire and fire procedure in general. Eventually, the discussion circles back to the young man in custody. In true McNally form, she was giving him the benefit of the doubt in spite of his history and suspicious activity.

"Oh, c'mon. You don't actually know that he did it."

He shrugs. "I don't, but I believe it."

And he did, the lighter, smell of gasoline, and loitering at the scene basically implicating the young man. Of course, as a rookie barely three weeks into the job and as McNally, he knows she's going to need more of a reason than that.

"You work the streets long enough, you start getting a nose for these things," he goes on, calling on his years of experience dealing with every type of criminal under the sun. "Arsonists love going back to the scene. See the work they've done. The literal moth to a flame."

He waits for her retort but gets nothing. _That's a first_. Sliding his gaze over to her, he catches her staring at him, a vaguely mystified expression fixed on her face.

_Okay…_

"What?"

She blinks at that, rapidly, then looks away like she's just been caught doing something she shouldn't have.

"Nothing." she replies, shaking her head, sounding a little too offhand.

Right. He doesn't buy it but hell, it's McNally and as hard as he tries—and ever since the Anton Hill case he's made it his personal mission to try—he can never figure out what's going on in her head half the time anyway. So he puts it behind him and focuses instead on getting to the suspect's apartment, even as he feels her gaze sneaking his way every so often when she thinks he isn't paying attention.

_When it comes to you, McNally, I'm always paying attention._

* * *

><p>AN: Did you get what I did there? ;) I'm pretty sure the next chapter will be the completed final chapter but we'll see how well I stick to that haha. So please leave a line if you'd be so kind and share your thoughts. As always, thank you again for sticking with this. I appreciate your support immensely. :)


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I'm such a liar. This isn't the final part. APOLOGIES. But I've really been trying to not make you guys wait so long between updates since I put this off for six months already. So, here's another snippet of what I have done so far. More apologies for my inconsistent chapter lengths. But enjoy! :)

Disclaimer: The only thing of Rookie Blue I own is the signed cast pictures they sent me in December. Everything else belongs to them.

Chapter 4

He wants to shove Luke Callaghan's face into a wall.

He doesn't know where that sudden overwhelming desire even came from just that it's now sitting in the pit of his stomach and clawing its way up to his chest, burning and visceral and absolutely _not _because of McNally. Only yeah, it kind of is; he just hates himself a little for admitting it.

Because god_damn_, when the hell did he become such woman over something like this? _Something like what? _a voice singsongs in his head, daring him to put a label on whatever unnamed thing it is he's feeling.

Alright, so he's interested. Sue him. Last he checked he was still allowed to be interested. But a rookie? That just spelled all sorts of trouble. And a rookie with a homicide detective boyfriend? Even worse. And a rookie with homicide detective boyfriend and who also happened to burn him on her first day? Well, that was just…

Yeah, he hates himself.

But it's so much easier to hate Callaghan instead so he spends his days dutifully avoiding all contact with the blond detective as much as possible and envisioning a hard right hook wiping that smug look off his face. They've never exactly been buds—because even before McNally, Callaghan somehow managed to rub him the wrong way at times—so the change goes unnoticed by the detective who just nods their customary greeting whenever they do manage to pass by before throwing a winning grin at McNally. She eats it up of course, doesn't see the blond boy wonder for the player that he is but hey, if she wants to do the whole "I can take care of myself" thing then who was he to stand in her way?

So, he lets her, acts like it makes no difference to him if she's knocking boots with Callaghan when really the thought is slowly gnawing a hole through his head and making him see green. And the fact that she always seems to have that stupid loopy grin on her face whenever the detective looks her way isn't helping things in the slightest.

So, yeah, he really wants to shove Luke Callaghan's face into a wall.

...

He's beginning to think that she keeps doing that thing with the radio just to piss him off.

Two minutes on a station before switching over to the next. Exactly two minutes. Seriously. He counted once. Okay, he tried to but the woodpecker currently residing in his head had decided to pick up tempo and he lost it somewhere after 75 seconds. But still.

Two minutes.

He certainly doesn't remember her being this irritating yesterday. Although to be fair, he hadn't been battling the hangover of his life yesterday either. Not for the first time that day, he silently curses Jerry and his insistence that they bring out the cheap alcohol to raise the stakes during the game last night. Loser of each round took double shots of the foul-tasting vodka with the unpronounceable name they had dug up from Jerry's mini bar.

They went seven rounds. He lost over $3,000.

Beside him, McNally's hand once again flicks over to the radio and the last notes of Pearl Jam's "Just Breathe" is cut off and replaced by the same jarringly upbeat tune he's heard at least four other times already, the girl repeatedly asking someone to call her maybe or something to that effect. He'd ask her to stop—McNally, he means—but just the thought of moving his mouth to say the words drains his energy so he just grits his teeth and shuts his eyes to it all.

A voice crackles over the receiver, says a few words, and McNally is merciful enough to answer it on his behalf. A moment later, she's making a left on the next cross street and pulling over to the curb. He blinks open an eye at that and promptly groans at the sight that meets his gaze out the window.

As it always is during this time of the year, the skate park on Windham is swarming with people. It's never been an official competition but ever since it started 12 years ago by a local skate shop looking to attract more customers, the City's Board-X Games have been an annual occurrence and a cause for the skaters of Toronto to descend upon the city's largest skate park for a weekend of good-natured rivalry. Of course, it was not without incident and there had been more than a handful of clashes over the years as the event grew in popularity, clashes that fell on the officers of the 15th to mediate as the park lay within the division boundaries. This year, however, Boyko had decided to step things up and ordered hourly drop-ins in an attempt to dissuade any possible conflicts between the skaters.

Apparently, another hour had passed and they were the closest car to the park.

McNally cuts the engine, then, and for the briefest of moments he considers simply staying in the car and letting her do a quick round of the park. But the latest incident of the B&E suspect who had been in the house McNally assured him was clear and who then pointed a gun at his unarmed step-father is still fresh in his head and he has absolutely no desire to once again explain to Boyko how a routine check went sideways so he grudgingly opens his door and heaves himself out of the car.

It takes a few seconds for him to orient himself, the cheers of the crowd rattling every neuron of his brain, his darkest sunglasses doing absolutely nothing to shield him from the sun's unrelenting brightness, but he eventually gathers enough coordination and willpower to push away from the car and follow McNally into the crowd.

They work their way through the park, McNally issuing gentle warnings to those tempting illegality, him dragging slightly behind her wishing to be anywhere else at that moment. She attempts to engage him in small talk but he honestly doesn't have the capacity to reply so he says nothing and merely grunts at her instead at which point she finally gets the message and continues their patrol in silence.

They're walking by a group of hand rails being crowded by a few dozen competitors when she stops suddenly.

"Nate?"

One of the skaters, a young man who had just finished his run of the rails, kicks up his board and turns to her. "Can I help you, officers?"

She takes a step towards the skater but standing still isn't working so great for Sam so he shuffles over to the side to lean heavily against a lamp post.

"It's Andy."

The man squints, wiping the copper hair escaping from under his helmet out of his eyes, before the realization hits him. "McNally? Holy shit, I didn't even recognize you!"

She laughs. "Is it the hair or the uniform?"

"Both." He grins, comes forward to hug her, and a twinge of jealousy flares in Sam's stomach. "So, you're a cop now?"

"Yeah. Started a month and a half ago. This is my training officer actually. Officer Swarek." She jerks a thumb in his direction and he manages a slight nod in greeting.

From there they launch into accounts of their lives since they last saw each other, leaving Sam at the mercy of the cheering crowd around him. His eyes flick over to the pair and sees the familiarity between them, the redhead playfully ruffling McNally's hair with a heavily tattooed arm, her shoving him lightly on his chest. A muscle jumps in his jaw as he watches until he's just about had enough of all of this, crowds, sunlight, and skater punks alike.

"You about ready to do your job now, McNally?" he growls, pushing off the lamp post and walking away without another word.

Hasty good-byes are exchanged behind him and a second later he feels her jogging after him and stopping at his side.

"We skated together back in high school," she says after a moment as they work their way through the sea of people. "Used to hang out a lot at the skate park down by the waterfront."

Yeah, he really doesn't want to hear this. "I'm sorry, I must've forgotten the part where I asked how you know each other."

"Yeah, like you aren't the least bit curious about how I know a guy like him," she replies, rolling her eyes.

He clenches his jaw to suppress a groan and shoots her a look. He can't deal with this right now. Not in the condition he's in. "The only thing I'm curious about right now is how long you can go without talking and how fast we can get out of here. So, can we just keep the reunions to a minimum and get back to the car?"

Something flashes in her eyes but it isn't anger. Disappointment maybe? Although he has no idea what she'd be disappointed about. Whatever. It's gone before he can get his head around it and she's mumbling a "Yes, sir," and picking up her pace. Watching her part the crowd in front of him as he trails sullenly behind, he frowns, regret tugging uncomfortably in his chest. Okay, so maybe he was a little snappy with her. But he really can't be having civilized conversations at the moment, not when he can feel his pulse in the back of his eyes and all his thought processes are currently being devoted to keeping himself upright. And Skater Boy really hadn't helped anything either.

Still, he knows he's being an ass and McNally really hadn't done anything—besides the radio-hopping—to deserve it. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. He'll apologize back at the barn.

* * *

><p>AN: Is Sam being frustrating or what? Haha but I felt this scene was necessary to demonstrate something. And I know some of you wanted Luke gone but I honestly love the tension and conflict he causes Sam. Rest assured though, he won't be sticking around even if this is mostly sticking to canon. And at this point, I won't say the next part is definitely the final chapter because I honestly don't know. But it will come! Sound off in a review! :)

Oh, and a little shameless self-promotion. I jumped on the bandwagon and joined twitter (purely to interact with my fandom worlds. Only one of my friends knows I have one haha). So, feel free to follow me and vice versa. User name is in my profile. :)


	5. Chapter 5

Setting note: This is sticking pretty close to canon now starting with the blackout except for the fact that Luke doesn't find Sam's name on ice in Andy's freezer. So everything's fine between him and Andy.

A/N: Well, here it is, guys! The final chapter. It's taken a whole lot for me to finish this but your support and encouragement have made it all worth it. And a HUGE THANK YOU to those who voted for this for the Rookie's Choice Awards Best Pre-Series fic. Really can't believe this was chosen when I was up against the brilliant tikvarn. It means a lot to me. Anyways, here you go! I really hope you all enjoy this bit. It's a long one. :)

Disclaimer: Nope. Still don't own Rookie Blue. I also don't own the Castle reference I threw in there.

Chapter 5

So…

She jumped him.

Not that he did anything to stop her. In fact, he might've helped her a little. Okay, a lot. But _jeez_, what was he supposed to do? Push her away? Show her the door? Sorry, Andy, lukewarm beers and Law & Order reruns sound so much better right now?

_Yes._

Shut up.

To be fair, he was fine with just talking when he first saw her at his door, jittery with a thin sheen of sweat forming on her hairline. He was. But then she went and took a step inside and her hands came up hard against his ribs and _shit_, she was _kissing him _like it was all she ever wanted to do.

So he took it. And goddamn, it was so much better than he ever dreamed it to be (and he's dreamed about this far too many times than he's willing to admit).

But of course, reality went and smacked them both in the face, the harsh lights and her ringing phone sending them crashing back to earth, and all at once, every reason why they couldn't be doing this came rushing up to meet him.

Which was why he let her walk away, or more appropriately, run away. She needed to figure things out, he got that—she's McNally after all—and after a few days of riding without her at his side thanks to the shooting, he was feeling pretty good about where he stood in her life. She had chosen him after all. Him, not Callaghan when she'd wanted to forget what it felt like to put five bullets in a man's chest.

So when Callaghan tells him to make sure Andy gets out on time on her first day back because they're going to his fishing cabin and it's _her fucking idea_, he feels it slapping hard against his face. His mind goes blank, blood surges hotly through his veins, and there's a heavy, sickening feeling spreading in his gut. So this is how she was going to play it. Like it didn't matter. Like it didn't happen. Like she wasn't the one who came looking for him, all cried out and desperate to forget.

Fine. He can play that too.

_It was what it was._

Even as the words are leaving his mouth, he's regretting it. He hates the way they taste like he wasn't interested in anything but a good lay when she showed up that night because nothing could be further from the truth. But she's standing there looking entirely too apologetic for his liking and he doesn't want, _can't bear _to hear those words come out of her mouth so he beats her to it instead, keeps his nonchalance firmly in place.

And then the calm wears out, unable to hold back the slow boil of his emotions, and he's absolutely livid. Callaghan's the first casualty, retraining exercise be damned, but of course, the cocky son-of-a-bitch doesn't even recognize his beating for what it is. In the end, he drags Andy and Diaz down with him too and he's feeling like such a shit that he forgets just for a while that he's supposed to be pissed off and apologizes for being an ass. He's about to revise his earlier statement about what had happened between them—because they both know how keeping that up turned out—when she throws them right back at him with such determination and acceptance that it renders him speechless. Her eyes harden ever so slightly and he finds it difficult to hold her cool gaze, knowing that she had every right to be unhappy with him or at least as equally unhappy as him. So he puts his game face on, tells himself he can at least _act_ like a damn professional and do his job even if it tears him apart before waving her off after Callaghan.

He does a pretty damn good job too. It's tense and forced and more than a little awkward, sure but _God_, it could be so much worse and he knows it. She's skittish around him, at least more so than before, and he finds himself growing adept at dodging her attempts at discussing _that night_.

Until it's just the two of them. Until they're trapped in the cruiser for hours on end, miles out of Toronto where they might've had the fortune of getting distracted by calls but now have nothing but a static-bursting radio and her nervous rambling to fill the silence. In that space, there's nowhere to hide and with every passing second, he fights to keep the two week-long slow simmer of hurt and anger tamped down. He almost succeeds, almost but then she loses Swann in what has got to be the worst rookie mistake you could ever make and the Bambi eyes are back and he is _losing it _in front of her. He thinks he can hear it too, the bitter undertone laced in his voice as he's yelling about Swann, the "_Why won't you stop pushing me away?"_ beneath the _"You over think every little thing but when something matters you don't think at all_," because he knows there's something there, felt it when he touched her, tasted it when he kissed her.

Later, when crisis and further verbal berating have been avoided and he's got his head on straight again, he tells her about his sister as he's bandaging her leg, an apology of sorts for going off on her. He expects to see pity in her eyes but instead he sees understanding and admiration, a soft smile curving her lips, and in that moment, he knows he's falling for her. But there's still Callaghan, Callaghan who has no clue about that night and who is everything she needs and that Sam can't give her. So he makes his choice.

"You know, Luke's a good guy." _You shouldn't want me._

"He's reliable. Solid." _I'm no good for you._

"And he cares about you. More than he lets on." _You can be happy with him. _

She looks at him, head titled slightly to the side like she's trying to see right through him and for a second, he thinks she's about to refute him. But she just nods, turns back to the cruiser, and leaves him standing there feeling hollowed out and defeated.

It does it's job though, their truce, and they tentatively settle back into their rapid-fire banter and good-natured barbs. It doesn't, however, make him like Callaghan any more, what with him still strutting around like he owned the damn place but he can finally breathe a little easier around McNally again so for the most part, he's placated.

But the following week Callaghan storms into the station without his usual swagger. He doesn't think anything of it at first—since he tries not to think about Callaghan for any reason anyway—until Andy shows up and dutifully avoids any and all contact with the detective for the whole day, no simple task when their first call out of the barn is a double homicide. He doesn't ask her about it though, doesn't pry even when every trip back to the barn is swirling with gossip about what had happened between the division's "it" couple.

By the next day, however, it's all very clear despite his attempts to ignore the gossipmongers and he suddenly feels the inexplicable need to address it some way or another.

"I'm sorry about you and Callaghan," he says out of the blue as they're cruising the streets. He isn't all that sorry really but she hasn't said too much since yesterday, just sits there next to him, staring out the window, and it's starting to freak him out a little.

"It wasn't gonna work." Her voice is soft and he realizes then that she was the one who broke it off. His heart speeds up at that.

"You wanna talk about it?"

The shake of her head is almost imperceptible and they lapse into silence, the smooth rumble of the engine the only thing meeting their ears, the conversation coming to an abrupt end.

Or so he thinks.

"We're partners, right, Sam?" she asks suddenly. "You back me up no matter what?"

He flicks his gaze quickly over to her, finds her hazel eyes on him. He doesn't know where she's going with this but if the look on her face is any indication, it's something that's been eating her up. So he tells her what he's known ever since she came down those steps in Anton Hill's lounge, looking every bit like she belonged in that uniform. "I'll always have your back, McNally. On the streets and off."

"Always?"

He doesn't answer right away, instead letting the car come to a stop at the light in front of them, before turning to look at her. Their eyes lock and he fights the urge to sweep his thumb across the planes of her cheeks, the swell of her lips. He loves her, he knows that now, and there isn't one molecule of his being that doesn't believe that he will do absolutely anything to stay at her side. Even if she's still off-limits.

"Always," he confirms quietly at last, never breaking their gaze.

And even though the exact words don't come out of his mouth, he promises her something else with that one word, something he hopes she'll one day promise him as well.

...

She's different with him.

Nothing obvious and honestly, if he wasn't in love with her he probably wouldn't even notice.

But he is in love with her, hopelessly so, so every little change registers and blips on the radar he's devoted entirely to her.

She lingers. Her fingers around the coffee she hands him in the mornings, her gaze when he glances her way in the cruiser. Not for long but just enough that he knows it's intentional and every time he catches her something curls in his stomach, hot and inviting and damn it, he is so in love with her it's ridiculous.

And then there's the banter. It's just as quick, just as biting as before and to anyone looking in it wouldn't seem like anything more than two partners just having a laugh. But he feels the difference, hears it. She pushes it just a little bit further, teases him just a little bit more and he damn well lets her. Because he likes seeing this side of her, this light and mischievous version of the wide-eyed rookie who took him down all those weeks ago.

But they never talk about it, just leave it hanging there, this giant cloud of everything they haven't said out loud and blatantly chose to ignore. And for some reason, he's fine with that. Hell, he's not entirely sure what he'd say anyway because even if he knows what he feels for her, what she's done to him every time he thinks about saying those three words, the air gets sucked out of his lungs and catches somewhere in his throat. So yeah, he's fine with the not talking, for now at least.

October carries on and as he always does during this time of the year, he starts counting down the days until that one Wednesday in November, a habit he's fallen into on autopilot after 11 years of the same. But this time, he isn't the only one counting down nor is that meeting at the waterfront his only reason for doing so.

Because the rookies are all ticking off the days as well and as the days get longer and October heads steadily into November, he feels the quiet nervous energy radiating off of all of them, most of all Andy. She doesn't always let it show but he knows it's there, vibrating just below the surface. Of course, he knows all the worrying is for nothing since he's already filled out outstanding evaluations for her and the rest of the rooks as have the other TOs and despite all the ribbing and hazing, he doesn't expect anything but positive remarks from the others. But he's been where they are, knows what it's like to think you're barely hanging on by a thread and how no amount to encouragement got you over it until Cutting Day so he says nothing.

The Tuesday before Cutting Day, there's a mix up with the schedules and he and the rest of his co-workers find themselves picking up the afternoon shift despite the fact that they're scheduled to work the following morning as well. He's worked worse shifts though so the snafu isn't anything more than annoying but being partnered up with Peck for the ride just rubs it in a little harder. Not that he has anything against the blonde rook; in fact, he finds her to be good company.

But she just isn't Andy.

It's a hell of a night and between the high school rager and the homicide and the suicide scare, everyone has their work cut out for them and he doesn't have to see a whole lot of Andy during those eight hours to know that she takes it hard.

Wednesday finally arrives and he finds it almost comical that for all the nerves it's caused the rooks, it's a day that starts off as uneventful and normal as any other. They're riding together once again and there's almost some unspoken agreement between them to not discuss what had happened the night before nor what was to come later that afternoon. So they cruise the streets tossing jokes and jabs back and forth, playing that game they've been playing where they say everything and nothing all at once.

Finally, _finally_, the moment comes and the entire division is crowded into the bullpen, clustering around the line of rookies standing at attention. He takes his spot behind her, scissors twisting in his hands, and marvels at the pride swelling in his chest. At Frank's command, he steps forward, catches her eye, sees the determination and confidence staring back at him. And as he takes her tie and passes the blades through it, he knows he's never met a more deserving rookie.

Congratulations are exchanged and as much as he wants to stick around a little longer, the internal clock he's developed over the years specifically for this day starts flashing red and he isn't even finished with his paperwork yet. So he gives the new sophomores one last celebratory handshake, lingering slightly on Andy, before cloistering himself in one of the conference rooms to wrap things up. He's finished in record time, keeping one eye on his watch which was quickly approaching 5 o'clock, then ducks into the locker room to pack up for the day.

15 minutes later, he's exiting through the garage and heading for his truck when he sees Andy leaning back against the building, her face reflecting the soft light from her cell phone as she taps on it. Even in the semi-darkness, the last of the afternoon sun being hidden by the building, she's absolutely beautiful and his breath hitches in his throat as he runs his gaze down her leather jacket, tight jeans, and modestly heeled boots.

"Hot date, McNally?" he calls out as he approaches.

Her eyes flick up from her phone and she looks at him through smoky lids. "Something like that."

He was only half-teasing but his heart sinks at her words, he can't help it, and there's an uncomfortable twinge in his stomach that he knows he really has no business feeling. Hell, it wasn't like they were anything anyway. _But maybe they were heading there._

"Need me to rough him up?" he asks instead, forcing a lightness into his voice.

The corners of her mouth twitch in a small smile. "I think he'll behave himself."

He nods, begins walking away. "Well, if he gives you any trouble you just send him my way."

"I'll keep that in mind, sir."

He's scarcely gone a few steps when she calls out to him.

"You going to the Penny? It's Rookie Night."

He turns, looks back at her and he's almost tempted to ditch the waterfront just this once and join her and the rest of his friends in celebrating another graduating class. Drinks were on the new sophomores tonight as was customary on Cutting Day and it's been a while since he just allowed himself to forget about everything except the moment. But then his thoughts drift to the promise he made 11 years ago to the rebellious, self-doubting young woman who found a way into his heart and any ideas he might've had in shirking their agreement instantly disappears. He's already given her 10 years, 10 days, 10 hours at that waterfront; he could give her another and he would. Even if it meant saying no to Andy.

"Rain check?"

Her eyebrows quirk almost infinitesimally, imperceptibly. "Hot date?"

He hears the teasing in her voice and cracks a smile of his own but doesn't answer her.

"She must be pretty special, Swarek."

A short chuckle escapes his lips at that as he turns around and continues to his truck, shaking his head at the ground more for the fact that Andy read him like an open book than in disagreement.

_She definitely is. _

_..._

His breath clouds in front of him, swirling and curling in on itself, before fading into the thin November air.

It's cold—of course it is, that never changed over the years—but somehow it's one of the last things on his mind at the moment. Because he stands there at the metal railings where this all started, elbows resting on the chilled steel as he looks out across the glassy surface of Lake Ontario, and there are only two things he can even be bothered to think about right now.

Andy and the mysterious young woman he first met all those years ago.

They're both special in their own right, both owning a place in his heart but for very different reasons.

Andy, he loves, has been in love with for quite some time if he's being perfectly honest. He doesn't quite know where he stands in her life anymore, not when she's probably out with some guy laughing over drinks, flashing him that breathtaking smile like he's the only one in the world who deserves it. But they're partners and in love or not, he backs her up no matter what because she deserves nothing less from him. Maybe there'll be a time when she'll finally be ready to let him in but until that day he'll be at her side doing their part to serve and protect.

And then there's the girl from the waterfront. Even now, 11 years later, he still thinks of her as the rebel without a cause, spunky and badass in the face of whatever she had gone through that she determinedly kept hidden away but he had gotten a glimpse of nonetheless. She had earned his respect that day, his admiration, his loyalty. But most importantly, she had earned his faith, her tenacity proof enough for him that she would succeed even if she didn't believe she would, and that was all he needed to keep coming back year after year.

He glances at his watch, reads the illuminated numbers beaming 6:05 back at him. He's been here just over 30 minutes now, waiting as the sun slowly dipped beneath the lake's western shores and played a mix of purple and orange across the sky. There's still time though and he doesn't want to lose hope without the hour completely running out.

He's considering dropping by the Penny after he's done here whether she shows up or not when the sound of his name breaking through the silence stops the thought dead in his head.

"Sam."

For a moment, he freezes. He knows that voice, has heard it thousands of times over the past five months. But why…

He turns, knows his confusion is written all over his face. Sure enough, there she is, leaning casually against the bench a few paces away. "McNally? What're you—" And then the realization hits him with such force that he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth.

"It was you?"

He sees it now, as she's standing there in the context of where they first met almost 11 years ago, and wonders how the hell he didn't figure it out before. All those months he's known her and not once did the thought even cross his mind. _Well, shit she doesn't look anything like her teenage self. Is brown even her natural hair color?_

She doesn't say anything, just smiles that playful smile while he tries desperately to get his head around the whole thing.

Another revelation strikes him as he quickly replays the last 20 seconds. "How long have you known?" She must have. She called his name even though his back was turned to her.

Her smile inches wider. "I got a feeling when we shook hands outside the Penny after the Anton Hill case. Then you said something one day and it clicked."

He— "What'd I say?"

"Doesn't matter," she says simply with a slight shrug, her eyes dancing with amusement as she pushed off the bench and slowly made her way over to him.

He stares at her, almost unbelieving as his rookie, his _partner_ suddenly took on a whole new meaning for him. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"What, and ruin the surprise?" She cocks an eyebrow and _damn_, where has his head been these past five months that he didn't _see_ this? "Besides, I kinda thought you'd figure it out eventually. I did drop you a few hints. Clearly, I was mistaken though."

That pulls him out of his disbelief. Hints? What the hell kind of hints were those that he didn't get them? "Hey, now. I'm not the one who chopped off all my hair and dyed it when I was 17."

"I was 16. And it wasn't all my hair."

"It was less hair than you have now," he mutters rather petulantly.

She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, clearly trying to suppress another grin. "Is this really what you want to be talking about right now?"

He sets his jaw and attempts to glare at her but fails horrifically as he catches sight of her hazel eyes glinting in the red-orange glow of the setting sun.

"So, here we are 11 years later," she continues. "I suppose you've kept up your end of the deal?"

"Every year."

Her chin juts challengingly at him. "Can I trust you on that?"

"I think you already know your answer," he replies calmly, his eyes intent on hers.

She chews over his words and he catches the shadow that passes across her face, the teasing spark dying slightly in her eyes.

"Why'd you keep showing up?"

His mouth tugs into a faint frown. "That was the deal."

"No, I mean _why_ did you keep showing up? 11 years is a long time. Why didn't you give up on me?"

His heart breaks. Did she really have that little faith in herself that she couldn't believe someone else would take a chance on her? "Andy…" His hand itches to take hers but he stills himself. "I didn't give up on you because I believed in you. That day we met, I made a promise to you and it wasn't that I'd show up every year because I was supposed to. It was that I'd believe in you even if you didn't believe in yourself. And I never stopped. Not once."

Silence falls between them. An image flashes in his mind then and for a moment, he sees the teenage girl he met all those years ago staring back at him, wary and hesitant.

"You put a lot of faith in someone you knew for 10 minutes," she says quietly at a length.

"You were special." _Still are._

Her eyes soften at that as if he had just passed some final test and she seemed to let out whatever breath she had been holding.

"I wanted to quit."

The words settle like lead in his stomach, making the urge to reach out and touch her surge in his chest once again, but he lets her continue instead.

"Last night after that woman almost shot herself in front of me. I came so close. Had a speech prepared and everything."

"But you didn't."

She shakes her head, her gaze dropping slightly from his. "I couldn't. Walking away…after all of that…" She looks back up and he sees the fierceness in place once again. "I may not have always believed I had what it takes but I was never a quitter."

He smiles. "I know. The same way I knew you were gonna show up one day." A beat. Then, "And it looks like I was right too. You make a good cop."

"Maybe even a great one?"

"Definitely."

Her lips quirk upward. "Thank you, Sam. For not giving up on me."

And as he returns her steady gaze, her eyes boring intently through his, he knows she isn't just talking about his promise 11 years ago or his faith in her as her training officer these past several months.

"You got it, McNally." He holds out a hand, repeating the gesture that has come to mean so much more than a simple handshake. "Partners?"

"Partners," she answers softly, taking his hand.

He doesn't let go right away and neither does she; in fact, she seems to come even closer—or maybe he's the one pulling her in—before gently releasing his hand. It's getting dark fast now but even in the dying light, she's nothing short of breathtaking and he's just about two seconds away from losing all self-control and bringing his lips upon hers. But there's something else that's been on his mind.

"Did you ever think I'd forgotten?"

She chuckles lightly. "I was pretty certain you had. Until earlier."

His brows knit together in confusion.

"You skipped out on free drinks," she points out like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Sam Swarek doesn't do that. Not unless there's some other pressing issue."

He dips his head and scrubs the back of his neck, smiling. Sometimes he doesn't know why she gets him so well.

"Well, speaking of skipping out, what happened to your date?" At this point, he couldn't give two shits about her supposed date, not when she's here choosing him, but he feels the need to address it nonetheless.

"I'm looking at him."

The light in her eyes burns even brighter at that and he sees a flicker of something else as well that sends a jolt of heat and electricity coursing through his body. "Is that what this is then?"

"Only if you want it to be," she answers, shrugging, playfully tossing his words from that day back at him.

He snakes an arm around her waist, tugs her close but gives her enough space just in case. "Maybe I do."

"I think that can be arranged." Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, she draws her hands up his sides, fingers skirting lightly over the cold leather of his jacket, before coming to rest on his chest.

"Looking forward to it," he murmurs and nudges his nose gently against hers.

There's a pause, one just long enough for her to toss him a final smirk before her mouth comes swiftly over his and his mind goes blissfully blank of all coherent thought except one.

_11 years of waiting damn well paid off._

* * *

><p>AN: I can't really express how good it feels to be done with this. I kinda hate myself for using "Always" just because part of me thinks that word just belongs to Castle but it worked here. I'll be taking a break from writing Rookie Blue for a while. I adore this show and its characters but I've spent 8 months on this story and I really need to clear my head of it and write something a bit different before the semester starts. Rest assured I will return. But feel free to follow me into the Castle fandom as I start on a new story in a few days. Again, thank you so much for all your support. I couldn't have finished this without all of you. :)

Oh, and once again I'm Dany_Jarvis on twitter if you feel like looking me up there!


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